Last Adventure
by iNatix
Summary: His best friend was on top of the railing, gripping Moriarty as to not let the man get away. They met each other's eyes for a second, the brown pair just simply asking for forgiveness for one moment before they closed. And down he fell. Rated for language


This is told in an odd point of view, so if it bothers you, sorry. I'm trying out a new style.

This contains many, many bad words. And SPOILERS! DON'T READ AHEAD UNLESS YOU'VE SEEN THE MOVIE.

O.O.O.O.O

"Oh, how I've missed you Holmes."

He never knew just how truly those six words would foreshadow what would happen in his life.

It all started with the screams. The execrable screams he heard as he hid behind the object that he didn't know the identity of at that time. They froze him in place. The other man had never screamed like that before; at least, not as long as he had known him. Those abhorrent noises have never once left his mouth.

That left little time to plan a way to get away from the sniper. Little time to think. Luckily, at that time, he discovered the earlier unknown identity of what he was hiding behind. A cannon. That would work fine.

He set it off, disposing of the sharpshooter and sending the building down. As an afterthought, that was a horrible idea. If it crushed his friend, then there was no way that he would be able to comeback.

He found Holmes under the bricks, a massive fishhook monstrously lodged in his shoulder, rope hanging from it. What bastard would do something this tortuous to another human being? The idea unfathomable, but right now, the largest concern was his friend. He had to get him relatively safe to be able to dress the inhumane hole in his shoulder.

He yanked the hook out, locking eyes with the one called his friend. They assured him not to worry, it would work out. Nothing was said about the torture that he was put through when he was fiendishly hung on a rope like nothing more than a common fish. They just needed to hurry.

Digging out his partner, he helped Holmes limp along, as the latter could not readily support himself at the moment. He passed a gun over, knowing that his friend would be able to hold his own with a burst of adrenaline as they tried to get away.

They ended up being chased into a forest, gunshots coming from both the pursued and the pursuers. Checking on his colleague on his side often, he was relatively surprised on how well he was holding up. He seemed to be running fine, still able to shoot. But inside, he knew that he would _never_ be able to forget those bloodcurdling screams coming from the man beside him just what seemed like moments before.

The enemies would never give them a break, would they? Of course, those monsters had to set off that gigantic missile. Luckily, being as far ahead as he was, he had escaped most of the blast and shrapnel, just being thrown forward, and he had seen everyone else thrown forward too. The ones he had been watching were accounted for, at least. Maybe there wouldn't be any major injuries this time.

Everyone managed to hop a train, well, everyone besides that one poor soul who was shot. But at least he could take care of Sherlock Holmes now.

The man's head lay in Sim's arms, the aforementioned singing as the latter tried his hardest to stay awake. It was painful to watch him suffer like this. Living the dangerous path Holmes had chosen for himself, the man had managed to contract a surplus of injuries, but not any of this level.

Then, before a word could be said, Sherlock's eyes drifted shut. The worst conclusions came to his head first as Sim checked to see if he was breathing, but he tried his hardest to push them aside. But no matter what, there was always that shadow of a doubt lingering. And that shadow of a doubt got that much closer to reality when he was told that there was no oxygen coming in.

He flung himself up in a flash, checking for a pulse.

There was none.

He started pounding on Holmes' unmoving chest, getting harder each time. He yelled some things, but he didn't remember what later. Nothing happened, no matter how hard he hit the unmoving body.

He backed away from the man. His partner, his friend. No matter what had happened, he had been there through it all. The mysteries, the chases, the explosions, they had always done it together. There was no way in hell that he could be dead. Holmes wouldn't just leave him.

The suddenness of it finally came over, and he started thrashing against the arms holding him.

"You selfish bastard! You damn selfish bastard!" He had died. The witty, egotistical, brilliant man he considered his best friend, his brother, was dead. The selfish bastard left him!

How could he just die? He was Sherlock Holmes, damn it! He couldn't just up and leave without a show!

All of a sudden, he stopped thrashing against whoever was holding him back from attacking the dead body of the greatest detective as something came back to him in a flash. Why hadn't he thought of this earlier?

He reached into his pocket and pulled out this syringe, pushing it as hard as he could into Holmes' chest. After a millisecond of a pause, the other flew up, breathing as fast as possible.

He started to walk around the train, rambling on about things he slightly remembered in his subconscious. All he could do was stare and answer everything in a monotone voice.

He was alive. Sherlock Holmes had truly come back from the dead. There were no tricks; he had truly come back from the realms of the beyond.

At the party of ambassadors, Holmes was going on about what he had to do, then after telling them the basics, nothing beyond that, he headed to the door.

He wouldn't let the other get away that easily. He stopped Holmes for a minute with a look and simply said to be careful. There was no response for a moment; they were just standing next to each other suddenly before Holmes strode out of the room without a word.

That should have been his first clue.

He went about the business as planned; making the life-threatening decision as his partner was outside, doing who-knows-what.

After using the deducing skills he had picked up after all those years of being with that genius of a detective for so long, he had figured out the perpetrator. The police caught him, but René ended up being killed by an almost invisible dart. Being the man he is, he had to stay and help comfort Sim. Little did he know the situation his colleague was in right outside.

After it seemed that he had given all the help he could to the mourning woman, he stepped through the double doors to a sight that would haunt him for his life.

His best friend was on top of the railing, gripping Moriarty as to not let the man get away. They met each other's eyes for a second, the brown pair just simply asking for forgiveness for one moment before they closed.

And down he fell.

His colleague; his partner; his best friend; his brother; he was gone. There was no simple thing to bring him back this time. He would fall into the mixing waters and drown, or maybe hit the jagged, mountain rocks.

Either way, he was truly gone. He had just sacrificed his own life for the good of the world.

And Doctor John Watson hated him for it.

He remembered when Mary thought Holmes had hanged himself, and he said that Holmes was too fond of himself to kill himself like that.

He was wrong.

Holmes had come looking for one last adventure with him.

He had gotten it, and there would never be another.

Sherlock Holmes was really dead this time.

O.O.O.O.O

I don't think putting the last part of the movie will help with the mood, so I'm just going to leave it at that.

Review if you care to take the time~


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